Hellfire
by PhyrexianMeatdog
Summary: A revolutionary look at what Marines constantly go through - and one that refuses to die. Rated PG13 for Strong Language, Graphic Violence and Gore, Sexual References, and Drug Use.
1. I The Landing

HELLFIRE -READER DISCRETION ADVISED- 

**I. The Landing**

The rumbling engines propel the battlecruiser through space. I sit at a table in the Promenade, sipping a glass of cold ale—most likely the last glass my lips will ever touch. Out the viewport, stars shimmer and glow in the blackness of space, and one by one, they vanish, giving way to more as we travel. I contemplate our destination, and take another sip of my drink. The ship is deserted; everyone in their quarters, asleep. They will not live to drink more ale, as I presume neither will I. Why? Because of our destination.

We, the elite, although millions accompany us in the decks below, are being sent on a one-way mission to our enemies' homeworld. Our superiors asked—no, pleaded for the Protoss to reinforce our ragtag fleet, but they unflinchingly refused. Even I must feel hatred for them, even though they paid the ultimate price to defeat the Overmind.

Now we go to extinguish all remaining Zerg life. You'd think that we'd be better equipped, but the UED decided that since the Overmind was dead, the threat was low. But they've never been on the battlefield. Never roasted under the hot sun while cowering inside a bunker. Never blown a hole in your best friend's head to prevent him from being infested, only to have your second artificial leg gnawed off by a Zergling.

Never been in war.

I put my glass back on the table and stand, my cyberleg squeaking. It will need oiling this night, and every night to come, for we will be fighting the Zerg. The Zerg, who nearly destroyed our homeworld in their murderous attempts to eliminate our species. The Zerg, who infested Samir Duran and Sarah Kerrigan, bringing to light the full depths of their vileness.

A young cadet walks in, tired and unshaven. He looks abused…no doubt sexually by some of the feminine-starved new recruits. I gesture him to a seat, where he orders a glass of water. "No," I say. "Water is for the surface." I bring him a glass of whiskey. "Enjoy it while you can." The boy is no more than fifteen, a sour age to begin drinking, a sour age to be raped. A sour age to join the military. I myself didn't join until twenty-six, but that was before even the Protoss had been discovered. In fact, I should be retired at this moment. Fifty is no age for a soldier.

I return to my cabin, the dark, stainless steel walls close in around me. In order to fit enough men into our battlecruiser, the crew quarters have been sliced into half of what they'd use to have been. Now I must go to my neighbor to take a piss, and he must come to me for his share of rations. I grasp a can of oil in my hand and pour some onto a cloth. I massage my cyberleg with the cloth vigorously, and the screech of metal on metal halts.

I would have oiled the ankle as well, but that was when the metallic voice of our onboard computer said: "Attention all personnel. Report to your scheduled Landing Positions. We have entered orbit of Char. Repeat, we have entered orbit of Char."

"Hell," I mutter angrily.

There is a bustle of activity outside my door, the clatter of marines, and yelling. I roll down my pant leg.

Opening the closet next to me I remove my armor and helmet, along with the Gauss Rifle issued to all Privates. My door slides open and my neighbor runs in to grab his gear as well. I exit, turning the corner. I don't need to follow the signs, but I always like to know where I am, so I do it anyway. 23rd Deck, Docking Port 18, Seat 4. That's where I need to go.

That's where my dropship is.

Barely two minutes pass between when I leave my cabin and when I reach my dropship. I secure my weapon above my head and pull down the bars which will keep me steady during our passage down. The pilot yells into my ear: "Are you ready for the ride of your life?" I nod my head and she laughs. The other marines in the ship are sitting, immobile, mindless soldiers ready and willing to die. There is a seat empty. Over the roar of the engines I scream, "Where is our last passenger?" The pilot shrugs, and as she does so her breasts bob. Damn those silicone implants! All women need them nowadays—my mind has yet to realize why. "Either way, we're launching when they call us!" Port 16 is called, then 17, and no sign of our missing marine. Then, just as the pilot fires up the engines, a figure leaps onto the dropship and sprints to his seat. It's the boy I recall from the Promenade. "You had us worried, kid!" The pilot says. "Glad to see we're all here!" I give the boy a solemn nod, and then the engines kick in, and we plummet, hitting 20 gs and not breaking a sweat. Luckily our suits keep the g-forces out and our guts in.

I close my eyes and clench my fists; landing is never a pleasant experience. That's why most civilians prefer to settle on one planet and stay there. I've heard some space junkies call landing "a joyous ride." I'd like to kill whoever said that. The boy looks nauseous, ready to puke the ale I gifted to him. "Hold it in kid!" I yell over the comlink. "Wait till we're on the surface!" And then, after nearly 10 minutes of the excruciating entry, all goes calm. I chance a look out the window and see smoke, fire, and magma. The pilot grins. "Welcome to Char."

I sigh, glad to be rid of the intense g-forces we went through. The dropship hovers at 20 feet above the rocky ground, and we see gunfire ripple across the terrain, accompanied by screams of agony—both Human and Zerg. I grab my weapon and drop to the ground. The boy follows.

"Lock and load, kid."


	2. II The Surface

**II. The Surface**

The rifle in my hands is old, the one I have kept from my initial recruitment. The barrel, though functional, is rusted and beaten, the paint worn to bronze. The hilt does not exist anymore, lost in yet another desperate fight for survival amongst my own species. The trigger, like my leg, must be greased, though not quite as frequently. If I fail in this task, it will stick, and my ammo clip will remain full until I gather enough strength to nearly break the thing off. Fortunately, the weapon has been cleaned—though not by me, so I am sure to check it before I advance across the desolate plain.

The other marines troop behind me, the unspoken leader, worn by ages of unceasing conflict. The kid is last of them all, staggering about. This is his first combat mission; I have no doubt about that. Such a pity. This will also be his last. It is only by miracles that I have survived for twenty-four long years in the service, but those same miracles served to bar me from promotion, off the battlefield and into the relative safety of the war rooms.

Explosions echo throughout the barren landscape, and I turn my head to gaze at a large volcano in the distance. Some explosions will get too near. The volcano will no doubt explode, covering us with burning magma. Several wraiths are destroyed, courtesy of the local Zerg spore colonies, lethal anti-aircraft organic weaponry, known by many of my colleagues as "Lethal Fart Juice." Ah, the things we do to keep our spirits high.

The enemy is nearly in sight now, and my unused hand slowly drifts toward the handle of my weapon, finger itching to pull the trigger. By God, there is no feeling like the one you receive after blowing the head off of a Zergling. Especially when said Zergling devoured your best friend's face. Perhaps that is why I stay secluded, to myself. I don't want to risk another loss like that.

A line of Firebats advances, spraying the enemy with flame. Marines back them up with cover fire, wrapping the Zerg counterattack with a barrage of bullets.

"Did we miss it?" one of my companions asks, looking around questioningly. "They look to be scattering already!" I shook my head. Fucking newbs. I crouch at the ground, and pass my hand over the dirt. Something stirs. I point my rifle at the ground. "Burrows!" I scream over the din, and open fire.

Blood spurts from the ground, from the Zergling that was waiting for ambush under the soil. This makes the rest under the ground realize we've found them, and hundreds—no, thousands pop up from the dirt, dirt that we thought had been just dirt. Now we are surrounded. _Shit!_

I take aim at the nearest Zergling and pour bullet upon bullet down its muzzle. An eyeball pops from its socket and lands on my nose. The white fluid grips my nostrils. I brush it away angrily and turn on the next 'ling. The soldier next to me is dragged to the ground. I can't stop firing to try and save him, or they will get me too. Although we have the same goal, it's still every man for himself once the war begins. He is dragged into the horde of Zerglings, and the last glimpse of him I see is his face, as the Zerglings bite away his cheeks and lips while tearing apart his stomach and groin.

The kid sees it too and screams in horror, but I am the only one who hears. The mass of Zerglings is immense, our small circle of troops getting smaller by the minute as the 'lings close in. I can hear the screech of Mutalisks in the distance, and know that I am doomed unless reinforcements arrive. I aim my weapon towards the sky and open fire on the scourge of forces that fly about.

Then I hear a different, lower pitched screech, and recognize it as the engines of a dropship (or two?) and turn my head to the south, where reinforcements approach, escorted by a squadron of valkyries. Their cluster rockets dispatch of the Mutalisks easily. . . almost too much so. Medics and Firebats and tanks drop down from the dropships. My jaw drops when I see the tanks. They weren't supposed to arrive until the second wave! Had it been so long already?

The Zerglings are easy enough to deal with now, as we are not surrounded any more. The attack is doing better than I could have hoped.

Or is it? I look around and see only a few ragtag members of our army remaining. Perhaps a maximum of 70 survived the Zerg's first wave, out of our initial 1240. (155 dropships were launched, each loaded with 8 men.) The tanks surge forward, and many go into siege mode. I spot SCVs constructing bunkers to live in, signs of imminent occupation. Hydralisks squeal in the distance, and I know they are coming.

But the question remains: How do these Zerg maintain order without their Overmind? Is there another driving force behind the Zerg?

And then suddenly, the bunker nearest me explodes, throwing me to the ground amidst a loud echo of response cannonfire.


	3. III Occupation

**III. Occupation**

I taste dirt and blood in my mouth as I lie on the ground, bodies flying apart all around me, the result of heavy weaponsfire in the immediate vicinity. The bunker had exploded unexpectedly, but I can see the cause now: the second wave of Zerg was approaching, and guardians were bombing our meager encampment. Marines dive in bunkers only to have the haven torn apart by the Zerg onslaught. Tanks commence fire from their siege positions, pouring flak onto the other Zerg surrounding their targets. Wraiths fly into the atmosphere, courtesy of our battle fleet in orbit. Goliaths march unflinchingly forward, their robotic exteriors pummeled with acid spores and needle spines, but unleashing their missiles all the same. I dare not stand for fear that the Hydralisk sliding over me will reduce my skull to a gaping hole. Once I am free of the bastard I roll back and grab my gun, which had been separated from me in amidst the chaos. I bring it to the ready position and turn off the safety—my rifle is the only one that has a safety, they stopped production of those two decades ago.

I open fire, pouring lead into the Hydralisk's backside. It falls to the ground, screeching. There is no use now, I must stand or I will surely die. My eyes unconsciously stray from my Zerg targets in search of the boy, whom I see behind a tank, huddling beside a tread, gun lying on the ground. I jog over to him, to knock sense into the kid, but more Zerg block my path. Luckily for us, the barracks' seem to have touched down with trouble, and more men are re-arming themselves with flame-throwers and medkits. Most of the recent Firebats die instantly (a result of their foolish attempts to test their weapon before entering the battle) but a few survive. I dash to the nearest barrack and grab a more efficient armament, though I keep my rifle at my side.

Another Hydralisk approaches me from behind. I smell its putrid breath before I ever see its face. I slowly turn and it growls threateningly. Drool seeps from its open mouth, filled with small dagger-like teeth. Its black eyes search my own, waiting for my scream of terror and subsequently, the last sound I will ever make. Its scaled head rises, revealing sacs where I assume the needle spines are stored. Its claws rise as well, and it prepares to fire. _Oh, shit…_

But before it can proceed with my death its head blows apart, spraying bright crimson blood all over myself and the ground. Some splashes in my open mouth, and some in my eyes. It is salty and warm, and I wipe it away. As the cadaver falls I see a lone figure with a smoking Gauss. The kid had saved my life. To no one did I owe this honor. I purposely crush the Hydra's skull under my boot and nod thankfully at the boy. He walks over, and I can see that he is pale, his eyes wide and mouth open. I pull down my sun visor and open the comlink. "Thanks kid," I say, my voice gruff. I must sound like a grandfather to him. "I owe you one."

He activates his sun visor as well. Damn, all he needs to do is press a button. I have to roll mine down; another sign that I should have retired years ago. "No problem," he responds. His voice cracks at the end of his sentence. Still a teen. But he doesn't—

I force him to the ground and blow a bloody hole in the Zergling that was about to devour his crotch. It falls, twitching, bleeding, moaning. He looks behind him, shaken. "Keep alert," I say, getting to my feet. "We're even." He nods vigorously and inside my heart I laugh. No man can endure worse that having his genitals bitten off by a rabid alien muskrat.

I clap a hand on his shoulder. "Stick with me!" His suit rattles with the force of my hand, and I realize that my strength has not diminished since the Academy. I beckon to him, and he follows me. I run across the battlefield as explosions continue, although smaller and less frequently. I see more SCVs scrounging for parts to build the command center. I rush to the perimeter, where the last of the Zerg Hydras are being forced back into their lairs, and I know that our occupation has begun. I turn and see the Admiral's dropship land in the new city center. The kid looks out onto the vast hell that stretches before us. "Is war always this horrible?" he asks.

I chuckle. "You haven't seen shit." I wave my hand in the air. "This is probably the cleanest part."


	4. IV Smoking Dreams

**IV. Smoking Dreams**

I sit in my makeshift bunk, waiting for dawn. The night is dark and musty, with stenches of blood, piss, and God knows what else. Stirred up dirt creeps into the open tent flap, and I pull out my pack of cigarettes. Knowing this will probably get me in trouble with the duty officer, I light it, and inhale the wondrous fumes of nicotine, jacked up a hundred times for more immediate satisfaction. The reality of almost getting killed for the four hundredth time in twenty years is that it never fails to shock you. Coming nose to nose with your own demise, only to brush it away like a mosquito. But then to have it continually assault you, relentless in its pursuit of its prey, it almost gets tiring.

Which is how I feel after the kid saved my life. I realize that I actually loathed the kid for it, for sparing my life in this unceasing war. I have no more clear memories of life before the Zerg; most veterans don't. But often I find myself longing for fresh food, perhaps a grilled steak instead of this canned, pasteurized, and impounded shit. I'm tired of the same old routine.

But who isn't?

Fighting the Zerg wears the hell out of you, especially when you survive the scourge. Seeing all of the people you once knew simply devoured before your eyes while you are whisked off to safety is a terrible feeling. But it is one I feel every day. For some odd, freakish reason, I am always the one to survive. And everyone I know hates me for it.

I exhale, releasing smoke into the shadowy interior of the tent, and sigh. It hurts. It's always hurt. People tell me to quit the stuff, but I can't. It feels too good, soothes too much pain. Pain that renews each passing day.

I have only one other person joining me in the tent, somewhat conveniently, the kid. He coughs on my smoke and wakes. Looking at the cigarette between my fingers I say, "So. We're awake, are we?"

The boy covers his mouth. "Do you gotta smoke that in here?" I chuckle, not only at his response but also by his poor grammar. Already a sign of his full immersion in the corps. "Can't go outside," I reply, and exhale. "Dreams?"

The boy shrugs. "Y'know, just weird stuff."

I sigh, hating myself for what I am about to do. "Tell me."

So he tells me. He tells me that his dreams were mainly about the mission, although in his subconscious, I perish. He fails to pull the trigger when the Hydra corners me.

"That's comforting." I say, and inhale.

"Do you sleep?" He asks me.

I shake my head. "But I do dream."

"How? What do you dream?" he asks. He is persistent, true to the form of one his age.

I shake my head, correcting myself. "I do not have dreams. I have nightmares." I tell him my nightmare.

My friend of fifteen years and I are on Mar Sara during one of the first Zerg mass attacks. I am standing on a scout tower, my friend, on the ground at the wheel of a vulture. He has already set out his three spider mines. I call down to him, "Hey! How's the view down there?" It's a joke, one of many to keep us sane. He grins and shouts back. "Hey! I can see your hut from her—" But before he can finish his sentence, his head is torn off by the needle spines of a Hydralisk. Blood spurts from his neck as his arms shake wildly. His body goes into convulsions and falls off the vulture, the seat covered in dark crimson. My mouth forms an oval, my throat utters a high-pitched squeal, and I look to the source of my friend's fate. Thousands upon thousands of Hydralisks swarm from horizon to horizon. The dark orange sun illuminates them, making them seem even more murderous and deadly. I crouch under the makeshift buttresses that line my tower and roll down my visor, hoping my scent will not be caught. I slowly relive every moment of my friend's death repeatedly, in an infinite loop. The severed tendons, the cheerful look on his face, the blood-drenched grass. His esophagus sliding out of his neck and winding at the ground, like a small snake. The bike that topples onto his body, kickstand still up, so that it punctures his heart and arteries, spilling even more blood onto the ground.

And that was is the memory.

The fantasy begins when a Hydra slashes the wrought-iron supports of the tower out from under it, causing the makeshift building to fall to the ground. I open my visor and pick up my gun as it falls, but when it strikes the ground one of the buttresses breaks at the tip, causing a dagger-like tip to form. I am fully aware of this fact until I see the tip protruding from my lower midsection, just above my genitals. I am now immobilized against this army of now-millions of Zerg. A Hydra slides on top of me and I shove my gun into its mouth, and pull the trigger. I cannot feel my legs anymore, the result of heavy blood loss, but I feel the Hydra's bodily fluids seep into my clothes and in my eyes and up my nose. I snort, trying to clear my senses. But the blood clots in me. I am now mostly blind, and I cannot smell worth a damn.

I feel the next Hydra take my head in its jaws, and twist. I feel a crack, see red, and my head lands in a pool of something gooey and red. Through my foggy vision I see my headless corpse, blood spurting in droves from my severed neck, landing on me, wetness on my cheek. Then my vision darkens, and the nightmare fades.

I hate myself. The kid is scared shitless, and I can't see why not. I clearly have filled his entire life (or, at least the next few months) with waking nightmares of my most vivid memories. He soon snaps out of his trance and asks me another question. "If you don't sleep, how can you dream?"

I smile, a knowing smile, one you see in those old horror holovids, where the psychotic elderly person is telepathic or something equally far-fetched. But this is too real. "They're my smoking dreams." I say, and inhale another.


	5. V Reveille

**V. Reveille**

The sound of thunder awakens me. The cannons rumble, like stones skipping across a pond--or heads being blown to oblivion. Oblivion is a place, I, thankfully, have avoided thus far. I can only hope I can avoid it now. "Come on, damn it!" I kick the kid, waking him, no doubt from dreams of his long-lost sweetie. I pity him for that...mine gave up on me after three years in the service. He groans, but he grasps his weapon and stands, though shakily. Roars and screeches and cries of death fill the air, and our tent is ripped from the ground, throwing us from side to side as we hurdle through the air. A high-pitched scream comes from the boy's mouth, and I shake my head. I had placed the demo charge last night, with the timer attached to my wrist, intending to launch us to the front lines during the night. Unfortunately, the plan didn't work out, so I activated it once the boy was fully awake, so his panic would be…sensible.

We land.

The boy falls on me, still wailing like a horny girl, while I load my gun and unzip the tent flap. Smoke is the first thing I see. It is the _only_ thing I see, save the blood flowing across the ashen ground. I step out, and my foot treads upon a red, severed ear. It squishes under my boot. I sigh, because now my artificial leg is stained with blood not my own. "Another day of oiling for that," I say to myself. Such is the bread of an every day life in the corps.

A loud screech comes from overhead, and the giant flying corpse of a Mutalisk crushes our tent, merely seconds after the kid steps out. He's pale now. I gesture to him to follow me, raise my gun, and charge to the front lines. It is worse than I feared.

Siege tanks open fire, spraying 'ling blood and guts across the floor. Echoes of their cries circle throughout the battlefield, and Firebats move to crush the remaining forces, setting them alight with their massive flamethrowers. Doomsday is come. Hordes of surging, pulsing, drooling, bloody Hydralisks round the bend around the mountains and over the hills of glory. I open fire, pouring lead into the body of one. Its blood spills onto the ground in a continuous flow from the cadaver, and I use its shell as a minor defense against the onslaught. It smells absolutely rancid. The kid won't even approach, and I shoot a 'ling sneaking up behind him to grab his attention. He cries in frustration, his suit covered in scarlet, and wades through the animal's intestines to get to me. A marine in front of us charges ahead, and gets his genitals blown off by a passing Wraith. He falls to his knees, sobbing, as blood pours from his bleeding crotch, his penis in four pieces at his feet. He picks up the remnant of one of his testicles, but the bloody semen runs through his fingers and drips to the ground, mingling with the glob of flesh that once protected it. I look away out of decency.

"Killed by friendly fire" is a contradiction in terms.

The boy vomits uncontrollably onto his lap, and I push it away as it slides to me. I pull a tooth from the Hydralisk we desecrated and hand it to him. "Your first Medal of Honor." I say. "Wear it well." He takes it. His hand is trembling. He takes a sliver of the gum membrane and ties it around his neck, a testament to this day. Then we both stand.

He holds his gun like a vet. Behind my sun-visor, I smile, and begin to run forward. I hear his footsteps crunching behind mine on the wasteland, and I look through the sights to target the nearest Zerg. It explodes in a meaty ball of flesh and bone. I clean my visor off and turn to the next. A hail of lead is bored into its skull, and it falls down, bleeding profusely from gaping holes in its cerebrum. I kick it aside and advance. The kid is still trailing behind, but he has the guts to pull the trigger now. He butchers one 'ling so bad he vomits afterwards, but like a true soldier, continues the war. All around us, the bunkers burn. Missile turrets unleash volley after volley into the black skies. I can hardly believe it is morning. A Muta swoops low, avoiding several rounds of fire until finally it catches a missile right in the forehead. A group of Firebats to my left brutalize a Lurker, burrowed near the entrance to one of the Barracks. Several Valkyries screech overhead, raining missile after missile upon countless Overlords, most of which are transporting numerous Zerg over mountains. "They must be bringing forces from all the way across the globe," the kid muses. I turn and push him to the side, firing my Gauss the whole way, and when he turns, he sees a dead Hydra. "Déjà vu?" I ask. He simply stares. I chuckle heartily and aim my rifle to the skies, pulling the trigger on a passing Overlord. The 'lings that wanted to drop down on us meet a grisly fate, and I feel corpses strike my armor as they fall. "Keep moving," I say. "We need to reinforce the outer zones." He nods, and as he does so one of his arms slides off. He screams, loudly, but like a man this time, and kneels on the ground, exposing the Hydra that had stealthily came up behind him. I casually rip it to pieces with my rifle, but not before it gets another shot off. A needle spine catches me in the shoulder, and before it can poison me I tear it out. It is only a graze; the armor took the majority of the blow. I turn to the kid.

He lies on the ground, sobbing, clutching the bloody stump that was his left arm. Blood flows from the wound, and the bone sticks raggedly out from severed flesh. "Man," I say, biting my lip, "They got you hella good." I put a finger to my ear. "Medic to Barracks 13T2. Bring escort. Repeat, _bring escort."_ I sign off before I hear the "Copy that!" of the control room. Looking up, I discover that the Zerg have been pressing their advantage: strength in numbers. After bringing up my battle report map on my headset, I learn that the entire east flank has been decimated, and the northern borders have been breached. To the west, as of yet, only air assaults are reported. And the south—well, that's where I am.

Three marines and a medic trot up to my position. "Holy fuck…" One mutters. The medic bends over the kid, who has faded to a dull simper. I turn to my comrades-in-arms. "What news from the battlefield?"

The one who spoke up speaks again. "It's all fucked up. They caught east completely off guard. Heavy casualties, but the fleet is sending more troops down in the next ten or fifteen minutes."

A second pokes a corpse on the ground. It oozes red blood, and the man steps back. "Shit. You're the only ones we could find over here."

"Really?" I ask. "There's no one left?"

"Hell no! They all died in the first wave." The first says.

"Fuck…" I whisper to myself. "How long can we hold 'em off?"

"Here?" The third marine says, skeptically. "Looks like you already lost."

"Not while I'm still alive," I say. I rest my gun on my shoulder and pull up my visor to light a cigarette. The first one steps back. He realizes for the first time that I'm not his age—or relatively close. I didn't even get a chance to shave this morning, so my whiskers must make me look sixty. Before he can make some snide remark, however, the medic stands. She looks grim. "If we don't get him to the command center in about five minutes, he's fucked."

I shrug. "You got here faster."

She points. "That was before _that _happened." I look.

Four crashed dropships, alit with flames and burning humans, lie in our way. Screams echo from the wreckage. One of the engines topples in on itself, and there is a large explosion. "Can't we just go around?" I ask.

"It's pure canyon to the right and the Zerg control the left." She says. "We won't make it."

I sigh, and without hesitation, point my gun at the kid's face. "Nice knowing you, kid—" I realize I don't know his name. He smiles. "Poul." He says, and then coughs up a huge ball of phlegm and blood.

I cock my gun. "Poul."


	6. VI South Side

VI. South Side 

I duck under a metal pillar protruding from the side of a Supply Depot. In the distance I see 'lings and 'lisks patrolling their newly conquered territory. The marine behind me laughs. "No problem." I look back, and he shuts up. I crouch and move forward, careful to avoid the corpses of human and Zerg alike. They all look the same now. A 'ling wanders into range and with two fast shots I pick him off, a maneuver few can pull off with an machine gun. The sound attracts the 'ling's comrades, and before I could bring another into my sights, the horizon was swarming with the parasites. "Ready?" I ask. Everyone nods. "All right…now…_run!" _We all break into a sprint, opening fire upon the Zerg, blasting our way through their lines and screaming like lunatics the entire way. I don't even stop to look at the carnage we are causing, it's too vital to simply survive. One of the marines tires and slows down—he is instantly devoured by hordes of pursuing Zerglings. The medic looks back and screams as she sees the man's face ripped off by three sets of jaws at once, so that it's ripped in three different directions. I run faster, and press my trigger harder. As we continually run, and the 'lings keep dying around us, I suddenly come upon a revelation: Where are the 'lisks? I stop and continue shooting. The remaining marines stop behind me and together we drive back the advancing line of 'lings. And then I realize—_the exit. _I look aside to the bunkers, where the exit to the west side is, and see countless numbers of Hydralisks advancing on our position. _"Fuck!" _I yell. The medic turns and is torn apart by a barrage of needle spines. One of the marines joins her. Both die silently. The last marine and I hit the ground before we are taken as well. I prop my gun up on the ground and pull the trigger. Three shots come out, and then I hear a faint _click. _I curse and reload. This costs me precious time, and the line of Zerg warriors advances further. By the time the new ammo clip is fully in the gun, it's too late. We're surrounded.

"Oh, goddamn it!" the marine screams, and points his gun to his head, which then explodes in a flash of blood, brains, and pieces of bone. His decapitated cadaver drops on me, and neck droops onto my face. The blood is salty and the bone is slick, organs flop about, his windpipe falls into mine, and I stagger to my feet, coughing and sputtering, only to find that what seems to be the entire Zerg army surrounds me. I point my gun, but I can't decide which 'lisk to shoot first. They all ready their needle spines, and I prepare for the end.

A barrage of needles strikes my chest, neck, face, and legs. It feels like a million needles all puncturing my skin at once, and as they hit me, I let out an apish whoop and open fire on the Zerg. My vision turns red, and I look down for a second to see several dozen needles sticking out of my chest. Blood seeps down my face from multiple wounds in my head and face, and I can't see. I fall to the ground, the pain leaving my body, and I almost secede to death. But through my ears comes the rumble of thousands of dropships pouring down into the atmosphere from orbit, many landing in my exact zone. A smile crosses my lips, and finally, I succumb to the light.


End file.
